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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/30133107">razor blade smile</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/purplefennels7/pseuds/acezukos'>acezukos (purplefennels7)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Avatar: The Last Airbender</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - 1980s, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, misuse of 80s music</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 16:42:46</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,337</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/30133107</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/purplefennels7/pseuds/acezukos</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s weird seeing Jeong Jeong in his kitchen, the slight breeze through the window ruffling his hair, tapping his fingertips against the Formica countertops as counterpoint to Morrissey humming about death in the background. It feels like an illusion, insubstantial enough that if he touches it it’ll blow away in the wind.</p><p><i>A strange fear gripped me,</i> sings Morrissey, <i>and I just couldn’t ask.</i></p><p>or: a pianjeong 80s au. the smiths know more about them than they do about themselves.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Jeong Jeong/Piandao (Avatar)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>MMEU Spring Equinox Exchange 2021</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>razor blade smile</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/space_feminist/gifts">significant-turtleduck (space_feminist)</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>happy equinox, nina! 80s pianjeong lives quite rent free in my head and i hope this did them and some of your ideas justice. </p><p>cw: smoking, references to both internalized + external homophobia</p><p>title from "elton's song" by elton john. song referenced in the fic is "a light that never goes out" by the smiths. playlist <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0y20KYBkXABQukItvCDDe9?si=qHII-g_9RcKJLZ8n8jePYA">here</a></p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Piandao is mostly engrossed in reading through his midterm paper one last time as he walks into the main lecture room in the history building, and he credits that distraction for the way he doesn’t notice that there’s someone sitting in his seat until he nearly drops his bag onto their foot.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry,” he says automatically, and then fully processes what’s happened and lowers the paper to take a second look at whoever has decided to steal his seat six weeks into the term. “Wait, what?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He knows him, or at least, he knows </span>
  <em>
    <span>of </span>
  </em>
  <span>him - not that that’s anything to brag about; everyone on campus knows of Jeong Jeong. Jeong Jeong, who is looking up from something he’s scribbling down into his notebook, the tinny sound of Bowie echoing from the single earbud dangling around his neck.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry, are you lost?” he asks, tone drier than the desert, and that’s just unnecessary.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are </span>
  <em>
    <span>you </span>
  </em>
  <span>lost?” Piandao retorts. “This is my seat.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“As far as I’ve heard, there aren’t assigned seats in college.” Well, that’s a damn lie and everyone knows it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve been sitting here since the start of the semester. There’s a million open seats right there, no one comes to class anymore.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, you can go sit in one of them, then,” Jeong Jeong says, like it’s resolved, and goes back to the notebook.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That is not what I meant,” Piandao sputters, but it’s too late because the professor is calling class to order and he’s not exactly going to keep standing here. He picks the seat directly behind Jeong Jeong’s, just to be petty - a million other seats, yeah, and he chooses this one because he can.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When he passes Jeong Jeong on his way to hand in his paper, hastily clipped together with a paperclip he’d stolen from the person sitting next to him when she wasn’t looking, Jeong Jeong looks up and gives him a little quirk of the eyebrow. Piandao seethes, and prevents himself from crumpling the paper only by virtue of all the time and pen ink that he’d spent writing the thing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It takes about five minutes of being back in his seat for him to decide that maybe, possibly, he may have made a poor decision. He’s always had the worst habit of ignoring his self-preservational instincts and being interested in people who hate him, and he can already feel it happening in the way that he keeps staring at the back of Jeong Jeong’s head instead of taking notes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He fixes his eyes firmly on their professor and keeps them there for the rest of the hour, and practically flees the room as soon as he can. When he opens his notebook again, safely in the confines of his favourite corner of the library, there isn’t a single line on the page that’s legible. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>God, </span>
  </em>
  <span>he thinks, where only the books can see him. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I am so, so screwed. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>His seat is empty again the next day when he gets to class. Jeong Jeong isn’t there at all, actually, and he’s starting to wonder if maybe he’d imagined him when he slips in through the side door five minutes after lecture starts. He winks when he sees Piandao looking at him, and Piandao looks away hastily and does not react to the clatter when Jeong Jeong presumably takes his own seat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At the end of the lecture he looks around for him again, but he’s gone already. It occurs to him that yesterday had been the first day he’d seen Jeong Jeong in class at all, and he’s still wondering what exactly is going on when he walks out of the front door and finds Jeong Jeong is leaning against the side of the building, headphones in and looking far too nonchalant. Apparently he’s left early just to set up the drama of this “chance” encounter and that’s, god, stupid and he shouldn’t find it attractive but he kind of does anyway.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He should keep walking, he knows he should. He has work to do and he doesn’t have time for this and he doesn’t even want it. He doesn’t. He’d told himself that he’s not going to get into any trouble, not until he’s done with his degree because he’s not going to give the university a reason to kick him out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What the fuck are you wearing?” is the first thing that leaves Jeong Jeong’s mouth when he gets within speaking distance, and Piandao stops to blink.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry?” Jeong Jeong gestures expansively, shoving one hand back through his hair and pushing one headphone free.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is that denim on denim?” Piandao glances down at his light-wash jacket and jeans, and then jerks his head up to squint at him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And what do you call what you’re wearing?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“At least I have more than one colour on.” That’s an understatement if he’s ever seen one - </span>
  <em>
    <span>seen </span>
  </em>
  <span>is the right word to use here, for whatever it is that Jeong Jeong is currently wearing. It looks like he’s gotten dressed in the dark, and the worse thing is that he’s pretty sure it’s on purpose.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think you’ve gotten all of them, actually, and the patterns too. Look, I can just leave, if we’re just going to insult each other here.” He resolutely ignores how he’s sort of enjoying himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Where would the fun be in that?” Jeong Jeong’s grin is like a magnet, pulling him in even against his best intentions, and he’s never had the greatest poker face anyway. Piandao steps off the path, the grass soft under his feet, and Jeong Jeong tugs his headphones all the way off and pushes away from the wall. They stop just inside a respectable distance away from each other, and Piandao can hear the faint sound of the music Jeong Jeong hasn’t bothered to turn off. Queen, it sounds like, and he must be basically blasting his own ears out if Piandao can hear it from this distance.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You planning on going deaf by thirty?” he asks, nodding at the headphones, and Jeong Jeong snorts and reaches into his pocket to press pause on his Walkman.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Here for a good time, y’know? Playing Queen on anything except top volume is a crime, anyway.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll give you that.” He swears he’s intending to leave. Standing within this few feet of Jeong Jeong feels dangerous, like he’s blindfolded on the edge of a cliff and he doesn’t know where the edge is.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Not five minutes later he finds himself walking down to the river next to him, hugging his jacket close against a sudden gust of wind and glaring halfheartedly at how Jeong Jeong doesn’t even seem bothered in his short-sleeved shirt, coat tied around his waist apparently just as a fashion statement.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wimp,” Jeong Jeong says, eyes catching on the same movement, and he’s pretty sure it’s teasing but Piandao still pushes him just to watch him unbalance where he’s walking along the top of the curb.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Asshole,” he snaps, and Piandao dares to grin.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Takes one to know one.” Jeong Jeong rolls his eyes hard enough that Piandao wonders if he’ll strain a muscle, but surprisingly doesn’t say anything. Instead he shoves Piandao back, though he does have the decency to stop him from falling into the river.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why do you hate me?” Piandao asks after a silence. Jeong Jeong looks over at him, the breeze off the river ruffling his hair into messy peaks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t hate you. Why would you think that?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, when the second thing that someone who’d just stolen your seat in class says to you is </span>
  <em>
    <span>what the fuck are you wearing,</span>
  </em>
  <span> you tend to draw some conclusions from that.” Jeong Jeong lets out a snort, tipping his shoulders in Piandao’s direction in an acquiescence.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why’d you come with me, then?” he asks, coming to a sudden stop and wavering back and forth on the edge of the bank. “If you thought I hated you. Most people don’t hang out with their nemeses.” </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Nemeses,</span>
  </em>
  <span> you are so dramatic. And - I’m not sure, actually. I mean - got nowhere else to be, I guess.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks, that makes me feel really good about myself.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I literally just told you I thought you hated me, so maybe we can call it even.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s boring,” Jeong Jeong says, but lets the topic drop. Piandao hops up onto the bank next to him, watching little ripples spread across the surface of the water from the spray of dirt he kicks up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’d you think about lecture today? I feel like you’d have opinions,” he asks, for lack of another thing to say but wanting to keep the conversation going.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Opinions? Me? Whyever would you think that?” Jeong Jeong answers, and then he’s off, pacing back and forth and of course he’d be the type to talk with his hands. Piandao can’t stop looking, drawn in by everything about him, glimmering like he’s brushed with gold leaf in the sunset.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Same time next week?” Jeong Jeong asks when he’s finally winding down, and Piandao laughs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll pencil you in.” He finds himself grinning all the way back to his apartment, and tells his roommate some excuse when she asks him about it. He’s keeping this for himself, for just a little bit longer.</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Evidently Jeong Jeong had been serious about </span>
  <em>
    <span>same time next week,</span>
  </em>
  <span> because he’s waiting for Piandao in the same spot the week after, and the week after that, and the week after that. It weaves into Piandao's routine like it was always meant to be there, that hour or two spent sometimes wandering down the path to the river, sometimes just strolling through campus, talking about nothing and anything. They still insult each other’s clothes and say that they hate each other and Piandao puts out Jeong Jeong’s cigarettes half the time he goes to light them, but now there’s a fond little undercurrent that runs through it all. Piandao finds it oddly soothing, in the way that no matter how his day has gone, Jeong Jeong will be there to call him a bitch and tell him to get over it. It probably says something not-good about him that that is his main source of reassurance, but no college student has really ever claimed to be mentally healthy, and if they do they are absolutely a liar.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s week four or five of their new routine when Piandao, running on autopilot and too few hours of sleep, walks them all the way back to his apartment instead of their usual haunts. Before he can turn them back around, the grey clouds that have been shadowing campus all afternoon break open overhead.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, fuck,” Jeong Jeong says as the first raindrop hits his face. “Come on, I live fifteen minutes away, why did it have to rain now?” Piandao looks at him, and then at the front door, and then back at him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Come upstairs,” he says through an exhale. “I’ve got an umbrella, you can give it back to me next time.” Jeong Jeong is silent long enough that Piandao starts thinking he’s made a mistake. What was he even thinking, </span>
  <em>
    <span>inviting him up,</span>
  </em>
  <span> there are approximately two interpretations of that and neither one is looking particularly good for him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, come on then,” Jeong Jeong says eventually, and Piandao is sure that his relief is baldly apparent on his face as he tugs the door open and starts up the stairs, far too aware of Jeong Jeong following behind him as he fumbles with his keyring.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The apartment door opens onto the kitchen, and Jeong Jeong looks around with interest as Piandao flips on one of the switches on the wall. The glow of the old halogens mixing with the grey afternoon light out the window casts the room in a strange, otherworldly light, like they’re underwater, somewhere out of the flow of time, and Piandao finds his eyes drawn to Jeong Jeong in the midst of it all.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nice place,” he says, and Piandao snorts, moving over to the sink to pour himself a glass of water.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sure, if mostly-thrifted furniture and appliances that don’t work half the time is your idea of nice. Want a glass?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m fine, thanks.” Piandao hears the rasp of a lighter, and looks back over his shoulder to see Jeong Jeong lighting a cigarette and tapping the ash onto the floor.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can you, like…” Piandao says, motioning in his general direction and hoping he gets the idea. “Landlord doesn’t like it.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jeong Jeong nods and shoves the kitchen window open, hopping up onto the cramped countertop and propping his arm on the sill so he can flick ash out the window.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This better?” he asks, and Piandao snorts.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, fine, make yourself at home.” Maybe he shouldn’t have said it like that, he thinks to himself as Jeong Jeong laughs and tugs his ever-present Walkman out of his pocket, tossing him an earbud that he fumbles to catch. It’s weird seeing him in his kitchen, the slight breeze through the window ruffling his hair, tapping his fingertips against the Formica countertops as counterpoint to Morrissey humming about death in the background. It feels like an illusion, insubstantial enough that if he touches it it’ll blow away in the wind.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>A strange fear gripped me,</span>
  </em>
  <span> sings Morrissey, </span>
  <em>
    <span>and I just couldn’t ask.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>This song is going to swallow them both, Piandao thinks, a little dazedly. And maybe he’ll never come up. Jeong Jeong might, if he listens to it on the regular - or maybe he’s already gone, swept away under the tide of the sort of desire that Piandao doesn’t remember if he knows how to feel. It’s either look at Jeong Jeong or move away; he knows that if he’s this close, and he looks at him, it’ll all be over. Everything will be right there on his face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He stays there, and fixes his eyes firmly on the other side of the kitchen where one of the panels on the spice cabinet is painted a slightly different colour than the rest. He wonders if he can bribe his roommate into repainting it sometime - although knowing her, she’d done it like that on purpose because she’d known it’d bother him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe he’s dreaming. This is nothing he’d dare to do outside the locked door of the apartment, and even the open window is making him twitch. He just hadn’t wanted to leave him out in the rain, just meant to give him the umbrella and let him go home.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But now here they are, and he has his leg nearly pressed against Jeong Jeong’s thigh so they can share the headphones comfortably and even that one point of contact is like electricity shivering down his whole left side.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s almost reluctant to give the headphone back when the song ends, like the little black cord is all that’s crossing the space between them. It takes him both a few seconds and an eternity to drop the little bud into Jeong Jeong’s hand, and he takes an immediate, involuntary step back, putting space between them before he does something he regrets.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s quiet for a second, the humming of the refrigerator fan and the continuing patter of the rain the only sounds in the room.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Here,” Jeong Jeong says suddenly, and it takes a second for Piandao to register that he’s offering him the tape. “Keep it.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What - no, this is yours. I don’t need it.” Piandao steps back as Jeong Jeong hops off the counter and steps forward, and he feels the cold press of the countertop against his back through the thin fabric of his shirt.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, it is mine, and that means I can do what I want with it. What if I want you to have it?” Before Piandao can protest again, warm fingers are folding over his and pressing the tape into his hand. Jeong Jeong is too close, head ducked as if in shyness and Piandao wonders for a wild moment if he’s about to kiss the back of his hand like in some old-fashioned movie.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you,” he says as Jeong Jeong steps back, clearly trying to act nonchalant but looking everywhere except at Piandao. They’re still holding hands, too, frozen over the casing of the tape that’s starting to warm between them, and they’re too close again and he could swear Jeong Jeong is doing this on purpose.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The door slamming shut startles Piandao half out of his skin, and he shoots a panicked glance at the clock. His roommate wasn’t meant to be home until five - but it is five already and they’ve spent more time in this strange liminal space between them than he’d thought.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Piandao, did you forget to take out the damn trash again? God, I have to do all the work in this house.” Wu stops in the door to the kitchen and stares at the two of them, frozen in the flickering glow of the overhead light.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you kidding me?” Jeong Jeong says, releasing Piandao’s hand. Piandao curls his fingers around the cassette tape and tries not to shake.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You bitch,” Wu says at the same time, kicking her boots off and snapping the other light switch on, making both of them squint at the sudden brightness.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait,” Piandao says, feeling disoriented and confused and somehow disappointed. “Do you two know each other?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, I’ve never seen this woman in my life,” Jeong Jeong says, unrepentant.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Know each other,” Wu laughs. “He never took out the trash either.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t think I can process any more information right now,” Piandao manages. The way that Wu pats his head as she passes by is probably meant to be condescending, but there’s never been anything wrong with a bit of purposeful misinterpretation.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We were roommates once upon a time,” she says. “Gotta say, you’re a much better one than he was.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Gee, thanks,” Jeong Jeong grumbles. “Can you leave now?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Whose apartment is this again? Not yours.” But she does leave then, cuffing Jeong Jeong not-so-lightly over the back of the head and ruffling Piandao’s hair and laughing merrily at their indignation.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So…” Piandao says as they hear Wu’s footsteps moving up the stairs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t even ask.” </span>
  <em>
    <span>She’s never going to let me live this down,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Piandao thinks he hears him mumble. Whatever moment they’d been having is thoroughly broken, something like the real world rushing in the door along with Wu’s entrance, and the silence left between them feels suddenly awkward.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I should go,” Jeong Jeong says, and Piandao’s heart drops.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I - if you want,” he answers, through the sudden urge to ask him to stay. “If you are don’t forget the umbrella.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jeong Jeong pauses, and gives him an appraising look. Piandao fights the urge to fidget.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Piandao,” he hums, “this isn’t anything. It’s just five pm and if I don’t go now my roommate will probably kick me out for not cooking dinner again. Don’t-” he pauses - “worry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s something that Jeong Jeong is trying to tell him, and he’s not entirely sure what it is but he thinks it’s supposed to be reassuring. It shouldn’t work, really, but it seems to stay the dread creeping up his throat as he walks Jeong Jeong to the door, snagging the umbrella off the hook on the cabinet door on the way. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Stay safe,” he tells him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“When am I not?” Jeong Jeong answers, and the brush of their fingers as he takes the umbrella is intentional and yet still unexpected. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then he’s gone, and Piandao stares at the door for indeterminable moments before he reaches out to click the deadbolt shut and lets himself slump against the wall, his entire body buzzing with nervous energy. The corner of the tape is digging into his palm where he’s clutching onto it, and he takes the chance to properly look at it for the first time. There’s a messy curl of blue ballpoint pen over the label, reading the date and Jeong Jeong’s initials, and Piandao runs his finger over the curves of the letters and tries to etch the memory of Jeong Jeong leaning in to hand it over into his mind. It feels like a promise, like something that might last as long as he can keep it, and he closes his hand around it and holds on.</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>He doesn’t see Jeong Jeong for another week after that. He’s always been above such things like coming to class regularly, and it’d be weird for Piandao to go looking for him so he just - doesn’t. Whether he lies awake at night, headphones on at the lowest volume, and wonders if he’s thinking about him too is his own business.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He finds the umbrella on his doorstep two days in, and isn’t sure if he’s more surprised by the fact that it hasn’t been stolen or that Jeong Jeong had given it back at all.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When he finally does run upon him it’s completely by accident; he catches a glimpse of a familiar silhouette whisking around the corner of a building and by the time he reaches the same turn there he is, dressed today in all cool colours and clashing horribly with the red brick wall he’s leaning against. He lifts a hand in a lazy wave when he catches sight of Piandao, and Piandao raises an eyebrow and comes to stand beside him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Those are going to kill you,” he says, flicking a finger at the cigarette dangling between Jeong Jeong’s fingertips. Jeong Jeong doesn’t blink, and when he blows out his next breath it’s tinged with smoke.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You want one?” He doesn’t wait for Piandao to answer before he’s flipping open the lid of the pack and holding it out to him. And Piandao doesn’t even smoke, not really, besides sneaking a cigarette from a friend - well, </span>
  <em>
    <span>friend </span>
  </em>
  <span>in the loosest sense of the term - in the alleyway behind his high school, more to feel the rebellious rush than anything. But Jeong Jeong is looking at him like a dare or maybe like a five-alarm blaze, and he finds that he’d like to find out what it feels like to burn.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He takes one, and Jeong Jeong’s lips curve up as he tucks the pack away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s just reaching into the pocket of his denim jacket for a lighter when Jeong Jeong stops him, a single finger held an inch up from his wrist, and for some reason it’s like electricity crackling across the distance as he leans in far too close.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is this...really necessary?” he manages to say, and Jeong Jeong looks up at him, eyes dark under his lashes as he cups one hand over the end of Piandao’s cigarette to light it with his own.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No.” The nerve of him. But then he’s gone, the wind driving in between them and sending the newly-lit cigarette flickering, and all Piandao can think to do is lift it to his mouth and take a drag. It stings like a stab wound, the way he wants to say </span>
  <em>
    <span>I’m like you;</span>
  </em>
  <span> with the way he holds the cigarette, the angle of his shoulders to let the light glint off his earring. And he wants, he wants, he god damn wants and this is danger and not the fun flirty kind. This isn’t the same sort of giving each other shit that’s been going on since that first day that Jeong Jeong stole his seat in class. Something’d changed the other day in his apartment, something deeper and quieter and - terrifying, actually, and he can’t be looking at Jeong Jeong right now but he can’t bear not to be looking at him either.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Maybe,</span>
  </em>
  <span> he thinks. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Maybe this is possible.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s a stupid little thing to think, but it’s in the press of Jeong Jeong’s fingers against his handing over the cassette tape and leaning close in the pretense of lighting his cigarette and there’s something maybe like hope lighting up around the region of his heart. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He should stop. He finds he doesn’t particularly care.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He reaches out with his free hand, and lets his fingers come to rest in the curve of Jeong Jeong’s wrist where he’s turned slightly towards him. Jeong Jeong’s head jerks up, and the sun plays in dappled shadows across his face as he stares at Piandao like he’s never seen him before. He can feel Jeong Jeong’s pulse, just barely, racing under his fingertips in time with his own. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then Jeong Jeong smiles, not the sardonic twist of the mouth he’s used to seeing but small and soft and real, and Piandao’s heart stutters over a beat. </span>
  <em>
    <span>It is,</span>
  </em>
  <span> he seems to be saying. </span>
  <em>
    <span>It’s possible.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>They stay there until their cigarettes have burned all the way down to their fingers and the sun is angling down over the horizon. Somewhere along the line one of them has moved so their pinky fingers are resting, just barely, against each other, and they’re saying nothing but nothing needs to be said. Not now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Jeong Jeong finally gets up to leave he smiles like a promise, and they’re going to have to actually talk about this at some point but for right now there’s a brilliant sort of energy flitting through Piandao’s veins and he’s content just to grin back, soft as anything. Maybe this lasts or maybe it doesn’t, but right now he has a whole world opening up in front of him and he’s going to grab it with both hands and hold on.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The pleasure, the privilege is mine, </span>
  </em>
  <span>he thinks as he watches Jeong Jeong go. He thinks he gets it now, why Jeong Jeong had given him that tape. This, all of it, is the flood coming to sweep him away and he has to let it pull him under and he’ll do so gladly, so long as Jeong Jeong is waiting for him on the other side.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>i definitely spent a lot of time looking at <a href="https://pencilscratchins.tumblr.com/post/631910138841841665/its-been-a-while-since-i-drew-some-dilfs-and">this art</a> while working on this fic so forever shoutout to mx pencilscratchins.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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